Queen of the Willis
by WhaleTheFatDolphin
Summary: Peter Pan never fails and he wants back in the game. When a voodoo doctor contacts his friends on the other side, Pan's the first one to answer. But Dr. Facilier's got his own tricks up his tight sleeve, including vengeance-driven spirits named the Willis, composed of young dancers who've been betrayed by their lovers. Princess and the Frog & Giselle characters added to OUAT cast.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello there! Thank you so much for thinking this was a good idea (even if you don't stay to read but that's okay because I'd never really know) and clicking on my fanfiction! Anyway, this is a story that is set in the near future of the Once Upon A Time universe and it explores the idea of loneliness and what to do after a heartbreak. I mean, we've seen Regina's way and we've seen Rumpelstiltskin's way, both aren't very good, ahaha. So I'm going to try and introduce characters (I've chosen Giselle, The Princess and the Frog, Aladdin, Dracula (what?), and the Tongue-Cut Sparrow) that deal with them rather differently. 3 are relatively Western tales, one is a ballet, and the other is a Japanese fairy tale. Other than that, all of the OUAT cast remain the same. **

**Oh and if you want to review, you get a story favourite+follow from me on one of your stories and an author favourite+follow. So, that's always a good thing, yes? I don't know, reviews make me feel good so I thought I'd return the feeling. Aha. 3**

* * *

"It's easier to make people hate something rather than believe it," Peter Pan crooned, his charming smirk plastered on his face.

So what's more powerful: hating something or believing something? The easiest way isn't always the best way. But although Pan never failed, he did have a nasty habit of taking the easy way out. He's always been like that– as Peter Pan and as Malcolm. He's hated and he's believed, and he's always loved the easiest of things. Believing in something proved to be too hard on him. Hating something simply proved to be much easier.

Peter Pan was not the only alias Malcolm has taken on. And it wasn't his first account of his deception amounting to dire consequences. It wasn't his first time lying. And, despite fading from existence, it wouldn't be his last.

Despite Malcolm taking the easy way out, his life was far from easy. Even from a young age, there wasn't much to believe in. But, you see, there's a true love for everybody. Malcolm was no different. His true love story was the descent of his downfall into darkness.

* * *

"Hey, kid, what you looking at?" Emma asked as she looked over Henry's shoulder, who was nestled in a booth at Granny's diner. Henry looked up, smiled at his mother then looked down, pointing at the picture.

"Looking at the fairy tales. There's some of these fairy tales that haven't even been mentioned by the others," Henry explained, "Like this one. No one even knows a man named Duke Albrecht or Queen Myrtha. They haven't even heard of them."

"Hey, that sounds familiar… what's the name of it?" Emma asked, flipping a few pages back to the beginning of the fairy tale. Henry crinkled his nose in the slightest of distaste. He wasn't even finished reading that page. At least, his mom could ask. "_Giselle_. Huh, that's a ballet now, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Henry answered plainly before flipping back to the page he was at. He didn't mark it and accidentally flipped a couple pages ahead. The illustration made Henry's eyes widen and Emma's jaw tighten. For the Duke Albrecht looked strikingly similar to a certain boy, a bloody demon, the nastiest person Baelfire has met…

He looked like Peter Pan.

What was he doing with the sweet, demure and lovely Giselle, the girl with the weak, dancing heart?

"Do you think… that's Rumpelstiltskin's mother?" Henry asked quietly. It was as if disbelief constrained his voice, a humungous feat considering Henry's heart.

"No, it can't be. There's no way Giselle would love Peter Pan, I mean, he's…" Emma furrowed her brow, trying to think of a better word.

"A villain?"

"Yeah."

Harry let out a wry smile before looking back at the book. The illustration was of a smiling teenager, in a vineyard on an autumn day, looking adoringly to a dancing figure, dressed in a light blue peasant's dress who was smiling just as brightly back at him. The boy didn't look menacing as Peter Pan did. Instead, he seemed every bit like the lovesick youth he's seen in the other fairy tales. He hadn't read all of _Giselle_ so he had no idea what "taking the easy way out" will do to a person.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, well, lookie what we have here," a man chimed, his voice smooth and confident. He was peering onto a map, if it could be called that. It hovered in the centre of the room, a bright and wispy apparition with colours sparking up then going out. There was a clustered amount of colour-bursting in the corner, an area blanketed with forest. Peering closer, the forest surrounded a town. "Hm, this looks to be more than a few parlour tricks, huh. Tons of magic going on here. What could possibly be happening in Storybrooke, Maine?"

An indistinct chitter came from the shadows of the room as light flickered off from the glowing map. They gave the shadows more depth and they flitted from side to side in excitement. "Alright, alright. We'll check it out. Damn. Them magic hearts sure must be pretty tasty if y'all getting this excited."

With a wave of his hand, the map disappeared, taking all sources of light with it.

* * *

The sweet tune of the bell chimed as Emma and Henry walked into Mr. Gold's shop. The older man looked exasperated as his eyes glanced towards them. "You never bring good news with you, dearie, what have you brought this time?"

Emma stopped in her tracks, furrowed her brow, and then shook her head. Surely, she didn't bring bad news _every _time she met with Mr. Gold. Or did she? She continued walking to the counter when she realized it didn't really matter. Henry followed in quick suit then placed the fairy tale book on the counter.

"Do you know anything about this?" Henry asked as he flipped to the page of the only illustration in the story _Giselle_. Rumpelstiltskin brought it a little closer to him, examining the picture closely. The flicker in his eyes was enough to give away how much it hurt him to see his father genuinely happy. Or, at least, the image of him.

"I do not. I didn't know my father as much as you would think and I'm certainly glad for it," Mr. Gold explained as he pushed the book away from him. "All I know is that my mother died giving birth to me, my father abandoned me for eternal youth, and I killed him to save my family."

"But you're not at all curious to know whether or not Giselle's your mother?" Henry asked, flipping through the pages to the end. "What I know about these fairy tales is that they're not what they seem anymore. So maybe a lot more happened between Giselle and your father and she died of a weak heart to give birth to you and –"

"Henry, Henry," Mr. Gold interrupted, holding his hand up to signal him to stop. Henry could hurt himself if he got too excited about something. "Don't think too much into this. After all, what good will it do to know who my mother is? She's dead and I've always known her as dead."

Emma tightened her lips and put her hands on Henry's shoulder, like any concerned mother would do. "Hey, kid, I don't think Mr. Gold's the one we're supposed to talk to."

The two adults locked eye contact and for a moment, an entire conversation was laid out silently between them. Henry failed to understand what the conversation was. Maybe it was his mom doing her special power or something of the sort.

"You two have a good day now," Mr. Gold said to break the silence, bowing his head in the slightest before walking into the back. Emma didn't say a farewell, instead, she turned on her heel to walk out of the shop.

"Hey, wait, Mom, what was that about?" Henry asked as he followed her brisk steps, stumbling to keep up. "Whoa, Mom."

Emma finally slowed her pace, looking a little solemn and worried. She didn't answer right away. But she didn't stop until she found a bench. Wordlessly, she sat down, glanced at Henry then at the ground. "Henry, being motherless is a tough subject. Believe me, I know. When I went in there, I didn't think he'd be so touchy about it. When I went in there…"

"You didn't think you'd understand how he felt," Henry concluded, still standing. He faced her with one hand in his pocket and the other holding the book, his trademark scarf wrapped around his neck loosely. Emma looked at him with a soft sigh, her eyes utterly vulnerable. She didn't have anything else to say about the matter because it was true. To think, she had something in common, on a deep level, with Rumpelstiltskin.

"Do you still think Giselle's his mother, Henry?" Emma asked when Henry looked deep in thought. The teenager shook his head.

"No, you're right. Pan was a villain," Henry muttered. This boy's name in _Giselle _was Albrecht, who in turn was pretending to be Malcolm. There was no indication of Peter Pan anywhere, save for a small mention of a tiger lily necklace. In the stories he heard before the book, there was a Princess Tiger Lily on Neverland. But, Henry never caught wind or saw a princess on the wretched island. There was only Pan and the Lost Boys.

It must've been a small coincidence, he concluded.

* * *

**A:N: Hello, WhaleTheFatDolphin here! Just a note: This story is also hosted on Wattpad under the same penname. :) So it's not plagiarized, it's just being hosted on two different sites.**


	3. Chapter 3

After Malcolm was an apprentice to a blacksmith, and before he was dumped onto the streets for being a coward and a cheat, he was a rather content young boy who found himself in the most absurd adventures. Malcolm was a loyal servant-in-waiting to a reckless and cocky Duke named Albrecht. This nobleman had a knack for pushing the limits of what was possible for someone who didn't use magic. If there was a challenge out there that was hushed, Albrecht brought it to light and conquered it.

Now, being so adventurous certainly had its downsides. His life was constantly in danger and as a man of royal blood, he needed to be very well kept alive. That did nothing to soothe his spirit. But Albrecht was clever. He decided the best thing for everyone was to keep servants-in-waiting that looked striking similar to him and in case, he ever were to die, they could take his place. Albrecht was the only heir to his land and chaos would ensue if he were to meet his demise too soon.

"Royal blood is actually no different than peasant blood," Albrecht was saying, dressed in peasant's clothing as he walked beside the white horse. Another servant, Wilfred, was dressed in Albrecht's noble clothing, his noble brooch on shining in the sun, as he sat riding the horse. Albrecht was speaking to Malcolm, who was often in charge of tending to the weaponry Albrecht liked to travel with. "Ogres certainly can't tell the difference. He'd eat both of our heads off in no seconds flat."

"It might take a little longer for you," Malcolm laughed, "Your skull is so thick, ogre's teeth wouldn't be able to crack it."

Albrecht laughed dryly before grinning towards Malcolm. Out of all the servants, Malcolm looked like Albrecht the most. The only differences were Malcolm's eyes, which were a brighter shade of green, and a birthmark in the shape of an arrowhead that he didn't bear. Not many people knew of this birthmark that Albrecht owned.

"What are we looking for?" one of the other servants asked.

"A golden egg. There's a legend saying that a human wouldn't be able to capture one from a golden-feathered goose," Wilfred answered. He acted the most dignified, even more than Albrecht. He was often given the position of deploy during travels and sometimes even in royal meetings. No one knew of the deception Duke Albrecht pulled off except all the servants-in-waiting that were involved.

"It's just up this ridge, the last known sighting of a golden egg," Albrecht called out before unsheathing the sword on Wilfred's waist and running ahead of the troupe. Wilfred clicked his tongue.

"He's going to get himself killed more quickly than he'd like," was all he said on the matter. Wilfred was in his mid-twenties, considerably older than the other members of the troupe. Thus, he's often the one to go to when the others are in need of advice. Albrecht was eighteen, and Malcom a year younger.

"Yes, but isn't that why we're forced to follow him?" Malcolm mused, "Sometimes I wonder if he's just trying to find an excuse to get himself killed."

A few of the other servants, the ones who were once knights-in-training, followed suit but not before Malcolm optimized their weapons. They headed off after Albrecht to defend him at all costs. The golden goose was rumoured to be carnivorous and extremely merciless.

The cooking servant had begun a fire to make food for the others. Malcom, Wilfred, the cook, the horse whisperer and the scribe were the only ones who had stayed behind from finding the golden egg. Albrecht was smart in finding servants that specialized in certain trades, claiming he had searched all over the realm from when he was a young age for the men in his ensemble. Malcolm knew there to be some truth in his claim, as some of the knightly servants have been with Albrecht longer than Malcolm and Wilfred have. The scribe's purpose was to find legends and challenges from his readings that Albrecht could base a quest on.

"They've been gone longer than normal. What do you think happened?" the scribe asked, sitting near the fire as the cook prepared a soup.

"Ah, Albrecht probably just got it into his head that he could capture the goose, too," Malcolm said, shrugging it off.

"It would be like him," Wilfred agreed, back in his peasant's clothing. It was no secret that nobleman clothing was very stuffy and heavy, and none of the boys liked wearing it for too long.

Loud rustling averted the boys' attention to the forest surrounding them. Malcolm stood up to get a better scan of the brush. Soon, a familiar servant stumbled out of the brush, weak and wounded. The scribe quickly tended to him, assisting him into the tent that the cook had set up. Malcolm was quick to follow suit as another servant followed behind the first.

"Where's Albrecht?" Malcolm asked both servants once their wounds were treated and their breathing became less ragged. The first servant looked towards Malcolm and let out a lung-hacking cough.

"The golden egg was right there… but where the egg was, the goose was closer… teeth like razors… strength of a bull… He refused to back down against a… fat bird…" the servant breathed out, groaning from the pain, "My Lord, we must be on the road as quickly as we can."

The last sentence was enough to know.

Duke Albrecht was dead. The other knightly servants were dead. And Albrecht named Malcolm as his heir. Malcolm swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded wordlessly, bowing his head to the loss of his friend. The scribe took off his hat as condolences.

"Where do you suppose we go?" Wilfred asked as Malcolm left the tent. Malcolm stared at the fire, unsure of what to do with all this sudden responsibility. He was now a Duke. He was now of royal blood.

"I'm not risking my life anymore for the sake of adventures. We go back to Rhine River, to Duke Albrecht's home, and we spend a life of peace there," Malcolm muttered, "Rhine River is a peaceful part of the Enchanted Forest, where there are no monsters for miles and the only worry there is whether or not harvest will be plentiful. Theo, Albrecht owns a wondrous study so you can finish your schooling and I'm sure everyone there will love your cooking, Loys. Tristan and Hector can resume their training where they please."

"My Lord, you said nothing of what is going to happen to us," Wilfred said. Malcolm's lip tightened in the slightest, hating the fact that everyone's slowly treating him differently now that he was declared Duke.

"Well, there's nothing left for us to do except to learn how to run the land. I'm not sure if I'm ready to be Duke but with you by my side, it shouldn't be too hard," Malcolm said, still looking towards the fire.

"I'm honoured, my Lord. To Rhine River?"

Tristan stumbled out of the tent, refusing to rest. However, Tristan was a brave and reckless fool that always felt the need to push himself. He rested against the support of the tent and muttered, "Hamelin is the village that comes before the Rhine River. If it's alright, my Lord, I wish to stay there with my family."

"Yes, now to Rhine River."


	4. Chapter 4

"Rumple? What's wrong?" Belle asked as she walked into the shop. Mr. Gold was standing behind the counter, his face solemn and nostalgic. He was holding a small brown box that held a small pedant necklace. The pendant was an orange lily with black spots on the curling petals.

"I never knew my mother. My father didn't even speak about her. Surely, I must be the product of some kind of love… right?" Mr. Gold asked, his eyes tracing the curves and outlines of the pendant. Belle sighed softly and put her hand above his, assisting him in closing the box.

"It doesn't matter where you come from, it matters who you are now in the present. You, out of all people, should know that," Belle told him sweetly, her sincere eyes searching his. Finally, a shadow of a smile ghosted on his lips. Belle took that as her chance and pecked his lips lightly. "If it makes you feel any better, your love must be inherited from someone and it certainly wasn't your father. I'm sure your mother was a very loving woman."

* * *

"Remember, Duke Albrecht is betrothed to the princess, Bathilde. Albrecht was very fond of this woman so you must act the same, My Lord," Wilfred was saying as they travelled on the dirt road to Rhine River. Malcolm nodded as he rode on the horse, a privilege he didn't have very often.

"Why do you think Albrecht chose me, Wilfred? You'd be the most sensible choice," Malcolm muttered, "I know nothing of being a royal."

"Like you said, I don't have your youth. I'm already 25 and was blessed with a youthful demeanour. They'd notice my aging faster and suspect something."

"They probably wouldn't notice until it's too late and you've married Bathilde and successfully inherited the land," Malcolm muttered. Wilfred let out a low chuckle.

"You're right, my friend, but maybe there's something else. You know how Albrecht liked his challenges. Perhaps he thought it a challenge for you to step up to and he trusts you to do so," Wilfred mused.

Malcolm was already doubting his place. He shouldn't be on the horse. He should be on the ground, carrying his wagon of blacksmith tools. He should be where he should be. He was intimidated by the responsibilities. He was afraid of the title "Duke". Was he ready for this challenge? If it wasn't for the thickness of his boots, they'd see how much his feet were shaking.

"Damn that Albrecht," was all Malcolm could say as they neared the Rhine River.

"My Lord, the villagers are out in the fields, preparing for harvest. If we go quickly, we can pass through without a royal celebration," Hector, the recovering knight-in-training who decided to stay with Malcolm and become a royal guard, proclaimed as he pointed towards the endless amount of field. There were grape vineyards and corn crops, apple orchards and cotton fields. As a result of the proclamation, the group began to hurry through the village.

None of the villagers noticed them passing through, nor did any of the party really pay attention to the others. That is, until Malcolm saw a young girl, most likely as old as himself, pass through the crowd. She wore a crown of daisies on her head, intricately woven and knotted. Her peasant's dress was stained with grape juice so Malcolm knew she worked in the vineyard. A peasant girl, not one for a Duke. Still, he couldn't let go of her sweet smile, her demure brown eyes. The way her step had a little skip, as she was holding herself back from dancing in the crowd.

When the party passed her, she dipped her head down to show them respect. She made no eye contact with any of them, not even the ones dressed in peasant's clothing. With a gulp, Malcolm kept his head high to maintain his regal posture. But it was to no avail. He saw her face. He saw her smile. He saw her. And now, he couldn't stop thinking about her.


	5. Chapter 5

"I won't be half a day, Wilfred, trust me. I'm just going to see… how my subjects are like," Malcolm said as he put on his cloak. Wilfred clicked his tongue once again, wearing Albrecht's emblem on his chest. He didn't say anything else, which meant that the young man was more pissed off than anything. Malcolm was unfazed. He walked down the servants' trail towards the village.

The village was lively, smiling and talking of harvest. It was serene and idyllic. No one was unhappy about their circumstances. There was a small line of cottages at the mouth of the servants' trail, where many people were gathered. They spoke cheerily. However, one voice carried out more than the rest.

"Oh, isn't today a wonderful day, Mama? By this time tomorrow, all the grapes will be ready for picking! Just imagine all the delicious wine we could make! We'll give some to all the villagers and make some for the Duke, I heard he returned!" the young girl exclaimed joyously as her mother hung the laundry. It was the same peasant girl Malcolm had noticed on the streets. She spoke so exuberantly that it was contagious, a grin growing on the teenager's face. "Maybe even Princess Bathilde will come to the village soon! She's got the most beautiful carriage I have ever seen!"

"Now, now, Giselle, dear, don't get too excited. You might hurt yourself and you know how strong you are," her mother said.

"Saying how strong I am is like saying how well a fish can walk, Mama," the young girl, Giselle, said with a soft sigh before assisting her mother with the laundry. The two kept on like this, Giselle getting excited about something only to be dismissed by her mother as they both did their chores. Malcolm was intrigued and enjoyed watching the young girl.

Not too long after, Giselle waved her mother good-bye as she walked down towards the vineyard. She didn't carry any tools with her, so she couldn't have been working. Malcolm saw it as his chance to speak to her, rather than simply watching her from afar.

Giselle danced her way towards the vineyard once her cottage wasn't in view. Her feet carried themselves in light, rhythmic steps and her arms raise above her head in the most elegant of fashions. She looked like a flower flowing in the breeze, bright and delicate. She was a sweet character, with dark brown hair and smooth, coppery skin. She did small spins and turns, leaping daintily when there was a root protruding out of the ground. Malcolm was enchanted.

Finally, he burst out, "You dance beautifully." He was at the edge of the path leading to the vineyard. Giselle was already dancing in the vineyard, her fingers brushing over the leaves as she passed them. Her smile was warm, like the way a hearth feels after a cold and long day.

When Giselle turned around, her eyes immediately cast to the ground. Her hands clasped behind her back politely before doing a shy little curtsy. She muttered out lowly, "I didn't see you there."

"I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. I'm Malcolm. I moved here recently hoping to find a job," he said right away and then immediately regretted it. How was he going to explain this to Wilfred? How was he going to follow through with this? Think, Malcolm, before you say anything.

What he said made Giselle's eyes raise up to meet his and she didn't look as wary as before. "My name's Giselle." Her eyes were the most magnificent shade of brown, as if it was a delicious, rich chocolate – a delicacy he had only tried once but would remember forever. "Would you like to dance with me?"

"But I'm a stranger."

"And you still came to talk to me. Surely, that must mean something."

"What do you suppose that is, huh?"

"That you don't want to be strangers anymore." Giselle's smile was sincere as she held up her hand, still inviting him to dance.

Malcolm looked away, realizing he had been caught. His smile was charming and a little bashful. He chewed on his lip once before taking her hand. The two began to dance lightheartedly, with Malcolm stumbling over his steps and Giselle laughing happily as her dress caught on some bushes. No matter how terrible they were at dancing with each other, they still continued on with their awkward twists and playful spins.

"Do you think we're strangers still?" Giselle asked as she glided towards the path back to the village.

"It depends on if I can see you again," Malcolm countered with a tease in his voice.

Giselle turned to face the young boy, and her smile was as it was when she was dancing. "What if I were to say that you could?"

"Then, I'd say we were still strangers, because then you'd dance with me again," Malcolm said with a soft laugh. He was careful, as if being too loud or too enigmatic would break her into a thousand pieces.

"Well, I'll see you again, stranger." And with that, Giselle skipped back into the village. Malcolm could see that as soon as she reached a certain distance, she stopped dancing and simply walked. And that was all it took.

Malcolm could no longer be the Duke of Rhine River.


	6. Chapter 6

"So what do you want for your birthday?" Regina asked as she dished out some lasagna for Henry. The young boy crinkled his nose lightly then shrugged.

"Y'know, it'd be really cool if I got to do some coming-of-age quest, like knights used to do. Slay a dragon, cross a troll bridge, battle an ogre. Something like that," Henry said. Regina let out a soft chuckle before pressing her lips against his forehead.

"I'm not about to let my son get into danger like that. I've spent too much time saving you from near-death experiences," the regal woman mused before ruffling his hair. She set a cup down beside him, a warm hot chocolate with whipped cream and cinnamon.

"Can I at least get a sword?" Henry asked with a bright smile. Regina rolled her eyes.

"Maybe. No promises."

Henry took a bite out of the lasagna before grinning towards his mother. That was a start. Soon, he'd be on his way to becoming a knight. His horse was warming up to him, he'd be riding him soon. He was pretty sure he'd have a great birthday.

A cool breeze shook the kitchen. Henry looked up towards the window, where the wind shook the leaves of the trees. Henry could feel the goosebumps rise on his forearm and did a small shiver. "Hey Mom, you should close that window, it got really chilly," he told her, nodding his head towards the source of the breeze.

"Huh, I thought I closed it," Regina muttered before latching the window closed.

Outside, a shadow shook the tree's leaves before disappearing out of sight. Shadows are masters of knowing what people truly want, what people truly have trouble with, and what would drive them crazy. Because, as Henry thought about his birthday, he thought about his father and the short time he actually spent with him. The fact that his father didn't spend a birthday with him. It really would've been nice if he could. But his father's dead.

* * *

"I'll look deep into your heart and soul," a man sang with a soft chuckle, looking at the misty image in the centre of the room. It was of a content Henry, eating lasagna and wishing for his father. "Make your wildest dreams come true."

The shadow snickered before whispering something into the man's ear. "Ah, missing ol' Daddy, huh? Well, let's see if we can find him on the other side. It shouldn't be too hard, a hero like him?" The man spat as an act of insult. Then the man chuckled as the shadow chittered once again. "Killing two birds with one stone, my friend. Not only will Henry trust me, the so-called Dark One will, too. After all, wouldn't he want his dear-ol' Bae to come back home?" The man puckered his lips out mockingly. "C'mon, we heading to New York. Something of this Bae is what we need. And my pal Al will hook us up."

Dr. Facilier washed his hand over the image of Henry and Regina eating together, making it disappear into a cloud of white smoke. The man put his signature purple top hat on and grabbed his cane. His grin was crooked as he walked with a jazzy hop to his step.

"After all, he is the prince of thieves. Shouldn't be too hard to steal a lil' something-something."


	7. Chapter 7

"You can steal anything your heart desires, Al, and you decide to stay in a dump like this," Facilier crooned as he entered the small homemade shack at the end of an alleyway. The hustle and bustle of New York could be heard at the mouth of the alleyway. A teenager, with thick black hair and mocha-tinted skin looked up and grimaced. "After all these years of business, I still don't understand you."

"People are going to remember a rich teenager, Facili-er," the teenager grumbled, pronouncing the French name as if it was English just to bother him, and stood up from his patched beanie bag chair. "They're not going to remember some homeless street rat. And they're definitely not going to remember the fact that the street rat doesn't age."

"Ah, always making immortality seem like a bad joke. How do I ever keep away from you?"

"I'm surprised that you don't," the teenager sneered. A monkey showed its face from a bundle of blankets and chittered angrily, shaking its small fist at Dr. Facilier before climbing to the teenager. Who was a face that everyone knew quite well: the Prince of Thieves, Aladdin.

"I need a job and I need it done quick. Got me some souls I'd like to catch so I need bait, if you will," Facilier mused as he pointed his crane towards Aladdin. "You think you can handle it?"

"Just give me the address, already."

"89 Wooster Street. Just something of the person's, anything of value, you know the drill."

"I'll get it to you tonight."

"Pleasure doing business, Al, my ol' pal. You get your payment after we done, like it usually is." With a skip in his step, Facilier walked out of the shack, a jazzy vibe to the way he walked. Abu blew a raspberry in his direction before diving back into the pile of blankets. New York wasn't the best place for a small monkey, however, Abu insisted they stay. Aladdin wasn't sure why.

That is, until they reached 89 Wooster Street.

"No… That means…" Aladdin has been doing business with Facilier for a long time. If he wants something of value, it means something that was either close to his heart or something off his body. The reason he'd need something like that stolen is because he was planning on bringing someone back from the other side.

It meant that Baelfire was dead.

Aladdin gulped, looking around while swallowing any emotions about it. Baelfire was once from the Enchanted Forest, the realm that Aladdin was from. Although it was across the sea and past a desert, Agrabah often traded with the kingdoms in the Enchanted Forest. Aladdin and Baelfire were once partners-in-crime here in the Land with No Magic… quite literally. But, Baelfire wanted to grow up and Aladdin couldn't.

Abu was a magical being, a product of a genie's wish. So, Abu knew things that others didn't. That's exactly why the monkey wanted to stay in New York. Baelfire was here the entire time.

"What does Facilier want with him?" he asked, mostly to Abu as the monkey fished through the belongings in the apartment. There was a dream catcher on the window, as well as all sorts of letters on the coffee table. Aladdin took a deep sigh, kept his questions to himself then snapped his fingers. Golden hazes appeared all over the apartment – things that Baelfire held in high regards. Aladdin shifted around, looking for something small enough to fit inside a voodoo doll. Finally, a folded piece of paper in a desk drawer glowed brightly more so than others. It was glowing almost as much as the dream catcher hanging by the window. As Aladdin opened the paper, he let out a nostalgic smile.

It was underneath a bridge, where a fire in a barrel blazed and two sets of sleeping bags near the barrel. There was a shopping cart filled with cans and non-perishable foods. Umbrellas of all sorts also resided in the cart. It was a realistic sketch using charcoal. Aladdin even remembered the exact moment when this was being done. The title of the sketch was "Home". It was where the two teenagers used to live when they were in Boston together.

"He always remembered us, hey, Abu," Aladdin murmured before shoving the paper in his pocket. It was perfect for bringing him back. As swiftly as he broke in, Aladdin left the apartment.


	8. Chapter 8

"Giselle, you need to stop dancing so much, I'm worried about you," her mother was saying as the two walked through the market. "The Willis have been taking more and more men. They were once beautiful dancers like you and their spirits are restless."

"Mama, there hasn't been a monster around here for generations. The Willis are nothing to worry about."

"Child, they're not monsters! They're vengeful ghosts, hellbent on murdering men!" her mother exclaimed. Giselle crinkled her nose in distaste before placing a few silver coins in exchange for fresh produce. She looked towards her mother.

"There is no way that'll happen, mother. I am capable of murdering a man just as much as someone is capable of swimming on land!" Giselle cried and shook her head as she did a small turn to the baker's booth. Her mother knew when she lost and didn't press anymore on the situation. After all, Giselle would dance no matter what the woman had to say.

The walk back home was a silent and heavy one. Giselle and her mother both struggled to bring back the groceries, as her mother was frail and Giselle herself was naturally weak. Still, they pushed on without asking for help. It was as if their struggling was masked, as the passing villagers said nothing to them but "good day". Giselle preferred this, as it was a slap in her face to be pitied on for her weakness. That is, until a familiar handsome boy with green eyes and curly brown hair came up to them.

"Here, let me help with that," he chirped as he took almost all the groceries from both of them. The mother was left with a bag of tomatoes and Giselle with a loaf of bread.

"You didn't have to do that. We were perfectly fine, right, Mama?" Giselle chirped, looking towards her mother. She only let out a chuckle.

"Anything to save my back these days. Thank you, young Malcolm," she said. Giselle's bottom lip puckered out helplessly. Of course, it was only her pride that was hurt. Malcolm was all smiles, brightly beaming with newfound pride. "Although, I've heard that you visit Giselle in the vineyards often."

"I've heard, as well, that Giselle has a weak heart. I thought it best to help her with her chores, so she doesn't wear it out," Malcolm answered with a chuckle in his voice. His tone was dripping with a playful charm that tasted like sweet honey to Giselle. Despite being partially offended, the young girl let out a grateful smile towards Malcolm.

"Oh, so I'm assuming you didn't find a job."

"Of course, I did. Duke Albrecht needs a blacksmith to tend to his weaponry, and I was the one who got that chance," Malcolm answered smoothly, his lie completely undetectable. The more he lied, the closer he was to Giselle. However, the farther he got, as well. Still, he couldn't keep himself inside Albrecht's castle for a whole day, even if he wanted to.

"You? A blacksmith? An apprentice, maybe, but you're no blacksmith," the mother laughed and shook her head, shuffling inside her small cottage. Her mother would have nothing to hear of Malcolm's skills. In actuality, Malcolm was one of the best blacksmiths that Wilfred and Albrecht had encountered, though he enjoyed entertaining with card tricks much more. Still, Malcolm faltered on bringing in the groceries.

"Don't worry. Everyone doubted my mother's skills when she was younger, too, and she's been the best weaver in town for almost 20 years! Your name will rise just as she did. I think she's just trying to give you a push," Giselle told him as she set the bread in the pantry. The two teenagers put away the groceries together, small dancing breaks put in between, naturally.

"I ought to be heading back," Malcolm told the mother, doing a graceful bow towards the resting woman. She waved him off before leaving the cottage. Giselle easily followed, closing the door behind her. When the cottage was out of view and the two were on the servants' trail to the castle, Malcolm picked up the young girl bridal-style and spun around. Giselle let out a surprised laugh and clung onto him, her voice sounding like melodic bells. He set her down as he stopped spinning, only to hold her in his embrace.

"Do you think she's onto us?" Malcolm chimed, referring to Giselle's mother. She let out an adorable snort.

"My mother is always onto me. She doesn't like the idea of me being with any other boy except Hilarion, the gameskeeper," Giselle muttered, her nose crinkling in distaste. Malcolm chuckled and was about to bow down for a small kiss. Instinctively, Giselle pulled away and daintily stepped back. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes glimmered with a shy sparkle.

"When will I ever get a kiss, a favour?" he crooned. Giselle smiled before turning back down the path to her cottage.

"When you tell my mother you want the kiss," she said with a laugh before waving farewell and skipping down the path.

Oh great, now the chances of them being together have dwindled even more. Malcolm shook his head, knowing how deep he was in this mess. But, like all teenagers in love, he didn't want it to stop.

* * *

Before Rumpelstiltskin became the Dark One, before Malcolm became Peter Pan, and before Giselle met her grim fate (which has yet to be revealed), the Realm with Magic was far more peaceful. Magic belonged to those who were born with magic, such as fairies, dragons, giants and nymphs/elves. The ones with the most magic were the genies, mostly inhabiting the deserts between Agrabah and the Enchanted Forest. One of these genies, Qaseem, was a powerful man with only one wish: freedom to watch over his son.

Qaseem has been around for many years, and he never bothered to count them at all, granting wish after wish. However, through despicable odds, Qaseem the Genie finally had a hold of his own lamp, halting the cycle of masters and granting wishes. Qaseem then used this chance to father himself a son that he'd raise as a genie, just like himself. Finding a woman to agree (in Agrabah, being the father of a genie was an honourable deed, even though you'd never truly meet the child), Qaseem fathered a son named Aladdin.

Aladdin was gifted with magic from the beginning, learning how to float before he could walk and teleport small objects to him before he could learn how to talk. He was a bright and mischievous young toddler, who would rather play than learn the ways of the genie. Qaseem didn't mind, as it brought him great joy to see his son playing with the other children. They spent a wonderful five years together as father and son, teacher and student.

"Baba, we'll always be together, right?" Aladdin asked one day as the two walked through the bazaar with the boy on top of Qaseem's shoulders. Qaseem tensed.

"My boy, do you know of Baba's lamp?" he asked instead. Small little Aladdin, with a head of ebony locks and sparkling obsidian eyes, nodded.

"Yes, of course! The gold one!"

"As long as you have that lamp, Baba will always be with you," Qaseem answered, satisfied with the explanation he gave. He'd tell Aladdin of his genie status later on in his life.

One day, young Aladdin asked to go play with his friends near the gates of the Palace, as there'd be a display of the Princess' suitors in the afternoon. Qaseem agreed half-heartedly and explained to be back before sunset to eat. With that, Aladdin sped off. Trusting him to be alright, especially with the older kids that Aladdin befriended, the Genie decided to rest in his lamp and recuperate his energy.

When Aladdin returned, hoping to find a delicious meal waiting for him, he returned to a destroyed house and a single monkey. The monkey immediately clung to the small boy and he called out for his baba. There was no answer. Quickly, he got to work scrounging in the mess, searching for the most valuable thing Aladdin had. Unfortunately, the golden lamp was gone. The monkey, obviously magic since it could speak, began to tell the tale of five robbers who came into the empty home and stole everything they thought valuable.

It couldn't be. Quickly, Aladdin ran out of the house, hot tears stinging in his eyes as he ran to the bazaar. Please, let the lamp still be there. Let the lamp not be sold. No one could want the lamp, right? How he was trying to comfort himself. After hours of combing through the bazaar, an old lady finally told him that her sons brought to her a lamp and she sold it not too long ago to a foreigner. She had said that the foreigner came from a distant land. No, no, no!

Aladdin was distraught. His baba was gone! If Aladdin was there, he could've protected his baba and the lamp. But Aladdin was instead, playing tag with his friends. Stupid Aladdin, he should've been there with his baba! And now, he was lost.

The monkey, whose name was Abu, comforted the small boy-genie, as his powers were only that of a talented young mage. He could not grant wishes, nor was he tied down to a special object yet. He was supposed to finish training with his baba. However, as he travelled back to his robbed home, he realized that only he could understand the talking monkey. Everyone else thought that it was simply chattering away, just as a trained monkey would.

"The nerve of them!" Abu scoffed, which made Aladdin laugh through his tears. At least, he'd have Abu. "That carpet in your home, is it magic?"

The young boy's eyes widened. Of course! The carpet! The magic carpet! He could travel to the distant land! He could, he could! He could find his baba! He will find his baba! With newfound energy, the boy ran to his home and unrolled the carpet. It looked incredibly generic, a bright purple hue the only thing setting it apart from the other useless carpets in the home.

With this, he could travel to any land he wished. Any Realm he could come across. As Baba explained, there were other realms other than the Land with Magic. If Baba managed to travel there, he'd find him. He needed to find his Baba.

Genies have the power to stop aging whenever they wished. Qaseem, the Genie of Agrabah, stopped aging in his early 30s. Aladdin, now dubbed the Prince of Thieves, stealing all sorts of treasures in search of the Lamp, stopped aging in his late teens, appearing now older than seventeen. With his budding genie powers, Aladdin could steal almost anything, even things one couldn't think about. Jewels, memories, ideas, and hearts… anything he desired. He's been searching a long time and there's only thing he wants to find.


	9. Chapter 9

A knock on the cottage door made Giselle skip with the lightest of rhythms towards the door. However, her mother let out a smug smirk when Giselle's face fell. So, it wasn't the new blacksmith boy after all. Giselle straightened her back and raised her chin in the slightest. "Hello, Hilarion."

"Good day," he proclaimed, sounding as if the world belonged to him. Giselle rolled all her weight onto one side as her eyes casted to the ground, unsure of what to make of this daunting atmosphere. "I wanted to give you these. And, as you know, there's a harvest celebration and a party of nobles are coming in from a journey. They wish to celebrate with us. Giselle, I'm sure you'd be honoured to dance in the celebration with me."

Suddenly, a small bouquet of ill-picked wildflowers was thrust into her arms. Giselle began to chew on her bottom lip as she looked up at Hilarion. This man has been chasing after her long before any blacksmith boy showed up and it was the only man her mother approved of. But, she was true to her heart. She was true to herself. And she couldn't lie to appease even the nicest of women.

"I'm sorry, Hilarion. I'd still love to dance but I'm afraid I can't dance with you–"

"It's because of that newcomer, Malcolm, isn't it? I could do so much better than him. I am the one who will take care of you, not some blacksmith. He's just a stranger, an apprentice who will clearly not amount to much. He's no good for you."

"And you know what's good for me as much as you know what my favourite flower is, Hilarion!" Giselle cried, roughly shoving the flowers back to him. Though, it didn't seem rough due to her frail nature.

She took one glance towards her mother, who was shaking her head, before bounding out of the house and past Hilarion. She ran into the village, not knowing where she was going to end up. There was familiar clamour and familiar chatter. She let these sensations override her mind with the smell of freshly baked bread and bittersweet wine. She wormed her way through the crowd until she arrived at a clearing with a stone fountain in the middle. It was the social place of Rhine River, where most of the celebrations were held. This was where she was invited to dance.

The musicians began to practice a sweet melody for the celebration. Giselle took it as her chance. She could forgetting about her mother, Hilarion and being too weak to push back against the things they forced upon her. Instantly, Giselle's light steps circled around the fountain, her graceful leaps and turns catching the eyes of many. She couldn't care about the people who were looking at her, she only cared about dancing. As the musicians practiced, enjoying their freestyle with this small young woman, a party of noble hunters arrived in the courtyard. Their arrival was announced, causing the musicians to stop and Giselle jumped in surprise. Quickly, she bowed as gracefully as she could towards the party, a little ashamed that she was so lost in dancing.

"Giselle! How shameful! You have to stop dancing! I've told you countless times that your heart won't be able to take it!" her mother cried as she shuffled out into the clearing. Hilarion was nowhere to be found and Giselle guessed that he was spying on Malcolm, yet again.

"Oh, please, don't stop!" a warm voice called out. It was Princess Bathilde, donned in her usual bright autumn colours, fit for the harvest season. Giselle always admired the fashion of the princess, especially since Giselle only had a meager choice of clothing. "Keep on dancing!"

Giselle's mother was at a crossroads. Her concern for her daughter or her obligation to the princess. Finally, with a sad harrumph, her mother nodded and urged her to continue. Quite easily, the musicians began to play a faster-paced number, one that Giselle could happily jump to. In moments, the fountain was surrounded by happy villagers. They were all watching young Giselle dance around the fountain with a bright, warm smile on her face.

Finally, when Giselle was spent, she did one last breathless bow to the princess. Her cheeks were rosy and her hair was messy, but that smile on her face never faded. She felt it such an honour to dance for the princess she admired so and was giddy at the fact that the princess had noticed her. "Here, you must accept this present. A reward for obeying my request, if you will."

The young dancer looked up to see a glorious pendant waving just above her. Princess Bathilde urged her to take it, although the peasant was far too speechless to say anything. As the pendant was put into her hands, Giselle could do nothing but bow her thanks. It was beautiful, so intricately designed and carved. Whoever made this must've been some talent.

The celebrations continued on with other dancers, foods and games. Princess Bathilde thoroughly enjoyed the celebration. Giselle continued to stare in awe at the necklace she received. It was in the form of a tiger lily, and when she put it on, it hung loosely just above her bosom.

* * *

As Henry calmly swept the floor of the pawn shop, Mr. Gold was eyeing the tiger lily pendant he held in his hand. He sighed softly, as if breathing out any anxieties he had about the necklace, before looking towards Henry. "You know a few days back, Henry, when you asked me about _Giselle_?"

Henry instinctively perked his ears and turned around, shuffling forward with broom in hand. "Yeah. Look, Mr. Gold, I didn't mean any harm by it, I was just really curious –"

"No, no need to apologize. Actually, I was going to tell you something. The only thing I knew about my mother," he held out the tiger lily pendant for Henry to see. "This belonged to her. My mother's hometown was Rhine River. Unfortunately, that's all my father told me about her. That, and she had a very warm smile, kind of reminded you of autumn, so to speak."

"Really? That must be very special to you, isn't it, Mr. Gold?" Henry asked, imagining a smiling Giselle, round with pregnancy, with baby Rumpelstiltskin.

"The pendant? Not necessarily. See, this tiger lily pendant was given to me by a very powerful spirit. She knows many things about my hometown, Rhine River, and remembered my mother from when she was alive. The spirit and this pendant is my only real connection to my mother," Mr. Gold paused before giving the pendant to Henry. The young boy's brow furrowed as the cool, smooth surface met with his palm. "But I've been told to let things go of my past. The spirit is a kind soul and doesn't seek out to harm anybody. She has a way of making you feel not so lonely, and she is always a friend. I think she'll be a good person for you to meet."

"Um, great, thank you, Mr. Gold… is she in the pendant?" Henry asked, confused and cautious about the whole necklace.

"The pendant is secured by blood magic. All you need to do is to ask her to dance in French and she will appear in front of you. But only you and I can summon her. Ask her anything about Rhine River and she should know the answer," Mr. Gold explained, looking down at the pendant.

Henry was trying to piece together why he was giving the necklace to him. But, then he realized that Mr. Gold didn't want to know anything about his mother, other than the short, sweet image he already has, whereas Henry did. It wasn't hard to imagine why Mr. Gold wanted it so. If he found out anything as to why his mother would fall in love with someone like Peter Pan, it might shatter that small image of her for him. This way, Henry would know without Mr. Gold finding out.

"Thanks, Mr. Gold," Henry said, putting the necklace on and going back to sweeping. It fell right below his collarbone, contrasting against his black jacket and grey shirt.

If only Henry knew the real reason why Mr. Gold gave the necklace to him. It was in danger. And it was one of the few leverage points he had against whatever was coming. There's been more shadows recently, looming in the alleyways and hiding in the bushes. There's been whispers of strange sightings of women dancing in the forest. Vengeful ghosts, they would murmur. If they were in fact the Willis, they would be after the pendant. They'd come looking for Mr. Gold, first, and if he were to fail, he'd know that it was safe. But Mr. Gold was great at keeping things to himself, so no one would know of his success or failure until the time came.


	10. Chapter 10

"Will you look at that? A piece of royal jewelry on my beautiful Giselle. Ha, it's almost as if you're a princess all on your own," Malcolm muttered as he admired the tiger lily pendant hanging around her neck. The young woman beamed proudly, her smile brightly shining.

"Princess Tiger Lily, at your service!" she exclaimed before doing a graceful leap onto her feet. She did a graceful, regal bow with her chin held high. It was clear she was imitating the posture princesses held so effortlessly.

Malcolm let out a warm laugh, his green eyes shining towards the dancing girl. Malcolm wasn't the best dancer and thus, he mostly just watched her leap and twirl as if she were some delicate snowflake caught in the wind.

"Come, the festival is still going on, it's not too late to join in on the fun," Giselle exclaimed as she skipped towards the boy, her hand held out for him to take. With a happy smile, Malcolm nodded and followed the sweet Giselle towards the village square.

Hilarion was close to follow suit, hiding from the happy couple. The gameskeeper was growing incredibly jealous of those two and had set out to destroy them in some way shape or form. He had found a way, but he wanted to wait until the perfect moment before he would reveal Malcolm's true self.

It was well into the festival with games, music, food and cheering all around. THe harvest was successful and the harvest for grapes was greatly due to Giselle and her hard work (as well as some help from Malcolm). Malcolm and Giselle almost became a sort of a staple in the last few weeks, always being seen together.

There were three who opposed this: Hilarion, Giselle's mother and Wilfred.

In those few weeks, Bathilde made some visits to the castle. Of course, Malcolm was there to greet her but he easily grew stuffy of the confined walls. He wished to be in the vineyard or in the village. Away from the duties of a Duke. Malcolm was quick to avoid Princess Bathilde, and he thought that she had left the festival to wait for him in the castle.

"Wait! Stop! There is something you must know!" Hilarion exclaimed as he entered the centre of the village square. He even stepped onto the fountain ledge so everyone could see him. "Our new villager isn't who he says he is! What do you say about this, Malcolm?"

Hilarion then pointed out Malcolm to the ground. He saw familiar faces twist into confusion. Namely Giselle's. Yet there was another.

"Albrecht? What are you doing here?" Bathilde asked before she stepped forward. The sparkle in Malcolm's eyes disappeared as he spotted his betrothed.

"Princess, you are mistaken. This is Malcolm. He is… a blacksmith here in the village," Giselle answered meekly, afraid to use the word "lover".

"No, he is Duke Albrecht, my betrothed."

"The princess speaks truth! I have found his noble sword and underneath his cloak, you will find the royal brooch!" Hilarion exclaimed. Malcolm narrowed his eyes towards the gameskeeper. What a hardhead.

"Malcolm? Tell them that it isn't true. You're not a noble!" Giselle proclaimed, looking at everyone else to find some kind of reassurance. When she found none, she put all her trust into Malcolm.

"I'm not! But… I am. Giselle, it's complicated but please, what I've told you isn't a lie," Malcolm said with a soft plead. A nearby villager lifted his cloak to reveal the royal brooch that belonged to Duke Albrecht. "No, listen, I am a blacksmith. A royal wouldn't have these hands!"

"But you are Duke Albrecht," Bathilde said with a affirmative tone.

"Yes… no!"

"The Duke is delusional! He lies to himself and thus, he lies to us!" Hilarion accused, shouting at the top of his voice.

"Giselle, I would give up royalty to be with you. Please, you are my princess," Malcolm pleaded with the peasant girl. Bathilde gulped heavily, watching the scene play out. The adoration in "Albrecht's" eyes was genuine, just as it had been genuine for her once.

Unfortunately, Giselle no longer could hear anything. She couldn't comprehend what was going on around her. Giselle could only see ghostly figures dance around her, milky whites and ghastly grays playing in her vision. Her eyes were glazed over. There was a heavy pain in her chest that she couldn't amend.

"You… lied. You lied to me," Giselle whispered, "You're the Duke. The Duke! Duke Albrecht can't be with a peasant. Can't be with me."

Then, Giselle began to let out an ugly, wrenching sob. Tears began to effortlessly flow down her face as her shoulder shuddered. Hilarion jumped down and moved to comfort her, though Bathilde stopped him in his tracks. Malcolm placed his arms around her in an effort to stop her sobbing, though she thrashed against him.

Once she was free of his hold, she let out a pained scream that turned into more horrible crying. Her cries became more erratic as he feet began to step to a faulty beat. She would spin into villagers, all who attempted to comfort her, before she leaped away in another scream. She was dancing, as if possessed by some spirit. Whispers began amongst the villagers.

Giselle was becoming mad.

Her cries became laughter, her tears no longer streaming down her smooth cheeks. Her brown eyes lost all the glimmer and shine that made her the happiness of those in her life. As she moved in a flurry of hysterical twists and turns, people were becoming afraid.

Giselle had a weak heart.

"No, my baby! Stop! You must stop this!" her mother cried as she tried to console the insane young girl. Bathilde was now sobbing, too, out of pity for the poor dancer. Malcolm was at a loss, so ashamed of what he done that he had fallen to his knees.

Giselle had made a wide circle in her maddening dance before she ended up in front of Malcolm once again. There was a small flicker of reason in her eyes before she let out a choking sob, then let out a hacking cough.

"Giselle!" her mother cried as the peasant fell to the ground. Her eyes were glossy and unfocused, staring up at the sky. Malcolm lifted his head to stare at her, the emptiness that was once his darling love.

"No, no, no. No! What have I done? What have I done? Giselle!" Malcolm exclaimed as he crawled to her body, her eyes still staring up at the sky. Soon, he too began to cry as the peasant's mother sought console with a close neighbour. Malcolm had no one in this village. Wilfred was up at the castle, unaware of the entire situation. The only person he had was Giselle. He cradled her body in his arms, his cries hoarse.

That day, Giselle died of a broken heart. Her heart, so fragile, was shattering into a thousand pieces within her body. She died dancing, as well. It was inevitable to what she would become.

A vengeful spirit that died of a lover's betrayal. A Willis.

* * *

"I hope I'm saying this right," Henry began as he held the tiger lily pendant in the palm of his hand. He was in his room, hopefully safe from any magic. "Voudriez-vous danser avec moi?"

A puff of orange smoke began to emanate from the pendant. Henry tensed, watching the magic unfold with wide eyes. Then, just before his bed was a silhouette. A translucent figure of a very familiar girl. She had a white, silky dress on with white ballet slippers on her feet. Her skin was a coppery brown and her hair a rich, dark brown. She had a warm, demure smile and happy, polite eyes. She did a graceful bow with her chin held high and her back perfectly arched.

"Princess Tiger Lily, at your service!"


End file.
